


it takes courage to live as we do

by Idk_hi_iguess



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Regency Romance, Slow Dancing, mention of hanging as execution, so any mistakes are inevitable and my own, this is uneditted by any other than myself, yeah it sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idk_hi_iguess/pseuds/Idk_hi_iguess
Summary: “I told you once,” Henry's voice was thick, and shaking, but he continued through the sentence like wading through treacle. “That loving like we do takes courage,”“You did,” His voice was laced with emotion but he smiled down at Henry.“Well some days I have more courage than others,” He admitted, and Benedict gave him a reassuring squeeze.~inspired by and set in the incredible universe that sospes created with their works "Oils on Canvas" and "Unfinished Sketches" which I've been obsessively following since the first chapter of Oils on Canvas. Rated T for mention of sex and execution.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	it takes courage to live as we do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sospes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sospes/gifts).



> so first of all thank you to sospes for creating this universe which I find far more inspiring than the series. i hope this lives up to yours even slightly.  
> I also feel it is important to draw attention to the fact that there is a height difference which I have no seen fic writers for this exploit enough. Luke Thompson is around 5'11 while Julian Ovenden is 5'8 (according to google) so um i hope that any fic writers use this information wisely.

In public, Henry was usually incredibly strict at the friendly distance that was kept between them. They might exchange a few words in a group or find themselves alone for a moment of talking about art before one of them hurried off. Often it was all Benedict could do not to pull him in there and then, and remain absorbed in each other in the corner, talking for hours about art, or society gossip or the food at the party. Henry was an incredible actor, not even his eyes slipping into their look of fond affection that they so often held when they locked eyes. He held himself with perfect balance, never leaning towards him too much but never acting as if he wanted to leave the conversation. And he conducted himself with such conviction that it did not even appear from the outside as if he was overthinking every move. 

Which was why when Henry approached him where he stood in the corner of the room he was so concerned. They never approached each other, especially not so removed from the gathering. His face was the perfect mask of rehearsed politeness but his air was deflated, and he was moving like a robot. 

“Lord Granville,” He greeted, rigidly polite despite the fact that there was no one around to hear, “How are you this evening?” 

Something in his eyes broke. “I can not explain here,” he murmured. “Not least because it would create a very unmanly display of emotion.” there was an ironic and painful edge to his laugh. 

“Do you want to leave?”

He nodded, a fast and jerky movement and Benedict noticed that his hands were shaking. “Please come home with me.” Such an outward statement of closeness was entirely uncharacteristic and so he instantly agreed, trying to school the frown of concern off his face. “Lucy will come home with Lady Danbury,” 

None of his usual pleasantries that he embellished his conversation with were present, he was direct and sharp. Panic was building behind his eyes and he refused to meet Benedict’s. 

He was in no state to think clearly, so Benedict instructed him in a way that would usually be the other way around, on the rare occasions that they wanted to leave a society function together. “You leave now, go right to the carriage, and I will do the rounds of correct pleasantries and meet you there in a few moments.” 

Henry nodded, and bid him farewell with a half bow. He walked mechanically over to the exit. If anyone noticed that anything was wrong, they didn’t comment or ask him about it.

Finishing the last of his champagne and desposting in on a tray held up by a servant, he walked swiftly over to his brothers. Colin was mid laugh, but fell silent when he saw the worried look on Benedict’s face that he was trying so hard to suppress. 

“Something is wrong with Sir Granville.” He said, so quietly that Anthony leant forward to hear better over the noise of the music and the chatter. “We are going back to his townhouse.” 

They nodded soberly. “Give him our best.” 

With that he turned to leave, stopping off to thank the host for the evening. The cool of the night air was a relief compared to the sticky heat of the ballroom. Henry’s carriage was parked close to the entrance and upon a nod from the driver, he climbed in. 

“Henry,” the lamp had not been turned on, and in the pitch black he felt very safe reaching for him. Before he fully turned his concentration to Henry, he leaned out the window and instructed the driver to take them home, before closing the curtains. In the dark, he could just make out Henry’s hunched over form as it jostled when the carriage began to move. 

He sat like a statue, eyes glassy and unseeing. His hands were clenched so tight in his lap and Benedict reached forward and took them, easing the iron grip apart. He noticed the slight reflection of tears clinging to his cheeks. 

“My love,” he reacted to the endearment turning so suddenly that Benedict thought for a moment he had made him jump, “my love it is safe here,” He reached out to wipe away the tears, and Henry melted into his touch. 

He embraced him and in his arms Henry whimpered, “Nowhere is safe. Not for us.” it was whispered through the silent tears as he gripped Benedict with the strength of a drowning man. 

His heart felt sick, he had never seen Henry this way. He had seen him upset, angry or stressed. He had held him when they had gotten the news that his mother had succumbed to her illness, when he had seen Wetherby and his new wife with their new child, and when one of their friends fell ill. But this was different. He could offer no reassurances. 

They were silent, only the gently rocking of the carriage lulling Henry out of his state. He held him close. What else could he do? 

When he had somewhat recovered, Henry turned up to face him, and he could just about make out the familiar shapes of his features. “I told you once,” his voice was thick, and shaking, but he continued through the sentence like wading through treacle. “That loving like we do takes courage,”

“You did,” His voice was laced with emotion but he smiled down at Henry.

“Well some days I have more courage than others,” He admitted, and Benedict gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

He kissed him on the top of the head. “That’s ok. Today I have enough courage for both of us,” 

Henry buried his face back into Benedict’s chest, letting out an animalistic sob of grief that was so raw that Benedict thought his heart might break then and there. He held him tightly, as if he might fall apart, and all that was keeping him together was his arms encircling him. When he was upset as a child, his mother would make small noises of comfort when words became too much, and he did his best to imitate them now, humming quietly. 

“I wish” He spoke through the tears, “I wish only that I could love you openly, loudly. The fact that I cannot, that it must be silent, is a pain I must bear everyday. But today,” he gasped for air, “Today it is overwhelming.” 

Nothing Benedict could say was going to make that fact hurt less. Any assurances of “one day” were meaningless because they were hopeless. There was no resolution to this pain. 

“It is not a pain you have to bear alone,” 

“I dreamt last night,” And here he looked up again at Benedict, and moved so that their faces were closer together. He pressed his forehead on his cheek. “That you were caught,” Benedict’s mouth went dry, but he stayed silent to let Henry talk. “Someone found a letter to you, one that did not have my name on it.” He paused to let out a pained whimper, “Anthony stopped me from confessing. I wanted to say that I was obsessed with you, but you had not committed any crime.”

Tear’s sprung in his eyes and he kissed Henry’s head. “Henry, I cannot imagine,” 

“Benedict I watched you hang.” There it was, the blunt truth of what would happen to him. “My worst nightmare and greatest pain. I watched you die!” He wailed the last sentence, and Benedict prayed that there was no one outside the carriage to hear them. “I do not know what I would do if you were caught,” 

Benedict did not like to think about it, but made a mental note to talk to him about it later. He wanted to hear Henry promise that he would never put himself in danger to save him. The pain of that, he didn’t want to think about. “I am not caught, I am here. As long as I am able I will be ok,” 

“As long as you allow me, I will be here too.” His watery smile was beautiful in the half light. 

“We will be ok,” It was an empty promise but there, in the dark, they both clung to it. “And you do not have to have courage now. I am here,” 

“My knight in shining armour,” Henry chuckled.

“I am  _ very _ proficient in swordsmanship after all.” 

“You disgust me.” 

“And I love you too.” 

The moment of levity seemed to lift a weight of Henry’s shoulders. They were so close together and fit so well in each other, that Benedict could not tell who was who, and he thought that maybe this was what Aristophanes and Plato spoke of. Two people, who were once one, returning and reuniting. 

“I will be brave again soon, my dear, I swear to you,” Henry said fervently, “But right now, right now I am so scared.”

“For people like us, there is always a grief; painful and irreparable. But today you are the one who holds it. And I hold you.”

He sniffed, “I long, I yearn for something else. I wish to gaze unabashed at you from across the ballroom. Walk arm in arm in the park and dance.” He breathed out and smiled and fresh tears poured down his cheeks. “Oh lord, how I wish to  _ dance _ with you!”

He joined in the laughter as his vision blurred. “My love, how we would dance!” 

The rest of the journey passed in comforting quiet, and they arrived at The Granville’s townhouse, tucked into the end of a row of grand houses. They hastened inside, although most people would still be at society events and not around to witness the way that Henry’s hand curled in Benedicts. 

“Welcome home, Sir,” Alasdair greeted them, “Lord Bridgerton, it is good to see you, if a little unexpected.”

“You too Alasdair, and yes, this is not how we normally conduct ourselves,” he laughed along with Alasdair as he handed him his coat. 

“Will you be requiring anything else this evening sir?” 

“No, I shouldn’t think so. Lucy will likely be home later.” He made for the stairs, pulling Benedict behind him. 

“Very good, Sir,” He bowed and turned to hang up their discarded coats. 

The door to Henry’s familiar bedroom shut behind them, and Henry instantly turned and pulled Benedict into an embrace. Here, with the curtains drawn and in the half light of flickering candles, they were safe.

“Let’s just sleep tonight. I’ll help you into your sleep shirt,” 

Henry looked relieved and relaxed as Benedict began to undo his waistcoat with practised ease. Usually he would make a flirtatious game of it, but tonight he would not. He was gentle, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead when he was done.

“Thank you. I am sorry that I am in no mood for more enjoyable activities.”

“As if I could care about that. We are here together, it does matter how we spend our time.”

He turned to stoke the fire, and added two more logs to keep it burning through the night. When he turned back, Henry stood before him with his arms outstretched. “Dance with me?” 

“There is no music,” he observed, already decided that he would anyway. 

“I don’t care.”

“It would be my honour.” 

He stepped forward and there was a slight confusion over who would lead. Henry fixed him with a glare and took the leading position, and who was he to stop him? Their hands clasped together, and Benedict placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder, the whole thing disjoined and unpractised, worsened by the height difference. But they were dancing, Henry’s hand holding his waist. Benedict had only ever led, in every waltz he had attempted, but being guided through a clumsy box step around the furniture and discarded clothes by Henry in his nightshirt was more romantic than any strictly perfect steps he had taken in a ballroom.

He laughed out loud when Henry spun him, and he nearly stumbled on a chair. He was caught, and Henry pulled him down into a kiss. 

“How you ever managed to become a ton beau, with those abysmal steps, I don’t know,” He whispered into the kiss. 

“My  _ incredible  _ looks made up for it.” His heart swelled as he gazed down at Henry. His eyes were still puffy, but lit up with a beautiful light, hopeful and kind. They pulled each other closer, closer than would be allowed at any society ball, and held each other through the waltz. They didn’t need music or glittering rooms and costumes, for this dance meant something.

They stopped beside the bed, and Henry helped him remove his clothes, until he was just in his shirt. Henry kept a sleep shirt for him here, but that was across the room and neither of them wanted to leave the other’s side. So he just wore his day shirt, and they collapsed together into the cold sheets. 

They pulled each other as close as they could get, settling down and allowing each other's breathing to lull them to sleep. In the heavy darkness, the moments before sleep took him, Benedict pressed a gentle kiss to Henry’s temple. 


End file.
